


Cardigans and High Heels

by Linnet



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: BAMF!Q, Fem!Q, Gen, Minor Violence, Rule 63, Sass, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linnet/pseuds/Linnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has to revoke her infamous cardigans for a board meeting, and dress smartly for once. Chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cardigans and High Heels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meinposhbastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/gifts).



> This is dedicated to the sassiest person I know, as a humble attempt at trying to proffer thanks for all her wonderful work. Dee, you're an absolute godsend. Grazie, Vă mulțumim, and... Voila!

There’s a board meeting today, and Q is presenting. It’s her first since her promotion, and M had stressed just how important it was to make a good impression, giving her cardigan a disdainful look. It hadn’t exactly been a subtle hint. 

Well, Q is never one to do anything by halves. 

“Q! Look at you! I like it," The first greeting of the day isn’t exactly what she was expecting. "Are you going to keep it like that?” She blinks at Eve’s blinding grin, wrong-footed. 

“I… What?” Eve gestures to her, whipping a hand across her body, and nods approvingly. 

“I knew I’d get you to dress smartly one day. I won’t miss the cardigan, Q!” With a quick wink, she departs, leaving Q standing alone in the corridor to blink after her, dumbfounded. 

Frowning, she doggedly resumes her journey down to her branch, stepping a little slower than she might usually have done. Well, walking in heels takes more effort than in her usual flats. 

How he manages to run into her at that precise moment, she will never know. The earliest hours of MI6 are the quietest, and he’s not even supposed to be in England as far as she knows, but even so, 007 manages to find her.

“Q.” A raised eyebrow conveys a message that she is starting to recognise all too often. Trouble. “What’s the occasion?” He falls into step beside her. “I might have dressed more appropriately.” Her step doesn’t falter. She doesn’t let it. Instead, Bond is treated to a cold, calculating look. 

“More appropriately than Tom Ford?”

“I might have worn a matching tie.” He eyes the skirt, his lip quirked in the closest semblance of a smirk that his chiselled features can allow.

“I hope you’re not trying to suggest something, 007.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“If I wasn’t in a skirt, I’d kick you. Thankfully for you, I do have some dignity, and it requires that I do not flash my entire branch on a monday morning on which I have an important board meeting.”

“A board meeting?”

“I’m presenting.”

“A presentation at a board meeting.” He nods slowly, and opens his mouth again to speak, but she interrupts, cutting across him before he can utter a single sound.

“If you say something like ‘go get ‘em, girl’ I will be regrettably forced to field-test this rather lovely little taser on you.” Bond grins, and shrugs a shoulder.

“I was going to tell you not to let them underestimate you, but I rather prefer your suggestion. It certainly has more of a ring to it, and the general point is still made.”

They have reached Q-branch now, and Bond has yet to leave her side.

“Is there a particular reason you felt the need to walk me to my office this morning, 007?” She asks, pushing open the door. He doesn’t get a chance to reply. 

A wolf-whistle greets them. There’s an agent perched on the edge of the desk, apparently waiting to be outfitted. 007 halts in the doorway, leaving Q to approach alone. 

“Hey, what are you doing in here, gorgeous? I thought Q-branch was off-limits to real women.” His face is split in a rather disgusting leer. It does nothing for his already rather lacking appeal. “Too distracting, right? Don’t want anything spontaneously combusting, do we?” His name is Thompson, she thinks. She’s dealt with him over comms before, but never face-to-face. Typical. 

When she doesn’t reply, his leer curls into a snarl.

“Hey bitch, don’t I even get an acknowledgement?”

The hissed intake of breath behind her does not go unnoticed, but she squares her shoulders, and turns to face her apparent opponent head-on. 

“That was neither a cordial nor a polite greeting, Agent. I therefore did not treat it as a greeting at all, and not worth wasting my breath on a reply to. I assume that you are here to be outfitted?” She ensures that the acerbic edge to her voice is functioning at full capacity, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Aw, Q. Always so professional. Monday morning too early for jokes?”

Q sighs. Bugger, she should have guessed something like this was going to happen. Eve deals with it daily, she assumes, but she’s had a lifetime of practicing how to. Q has had two hours and a notoriously short temper. Thank heaven his equipment is in one of her desk drawers. She grabs it out and dumps it on the surface in front of him without decorum. 

“Your usual gun and radio. Thank you, Thompson. You may go.” The dismissal is perfunctory and clear. Nevertheless, she’s far from surprised when he doesn’t move. 

“Why Q, is that all? Not got anything else for me?”

His tone makes her want to slap him. He’s slimy, smarmy, and completely disrespecting her.

“No, that is all that your file dictates. Goodbye.” She turns to leave, but a hand grabs her shoulder and holds her back. Q freezes. The few people that are in Q-branch hold their breaths, and all activity ceases. Agent Thompson doesn’t see to notice.

Bad manners, she can deal with, for a limited amount of time. Even direct insults, god knows she’d had enough of them over the years. But this? This is too far. 

“Hey, there’s no rush. Aren’t you even going to wish me good luck?” 

She can see 007 out of the corner of her eye. He’s tense, watching as the agent’s hand slides down her arm. Q is practically vibrating with suppressed anger. 

“Let go of me. We are finished here.” Her pronunciation is absolutely perfect, every single syllable falling into place. Her breaths are calm and slow, and her face the picture of serenity as she closes her eyes, once, and inhales.

“Oh come on, Q, don’t be such a grump.” His hand moves again. In the corner of the room, 007 steps forward, ready to defend her honour. Too late, she thinks. Thompson winks and taps her waist, appreciatively. “You should be flattered…” 

He hits the floor shoulder first, clutching at his arm and swearing.

It was too quick for Bond to catch properly, but when Tanner watches it back on the camera feed later, even he is impressed. A disarming move snaps Thompson’s arm almost backwards, and a kick to the diaphragm sends him reeling. Finally, a quick whip of her foot, and his legs vanish from under him before he even catches his breath. For a trained agent to be taken down that quickly is almost unheard of, especially by such a simple, though perfectly executed, move. Well, that should teach him not to let down his guard. Q just smooths down her skirt, then stands calmly, not even frowning, her arms crossed across her chest. Her whole demeanour projects a staunch resoluteness, firm in the knowledge that she is completely and utterly in control of the situation. 

“Bloody buggering fuck… what the fuck was that for?”

“What was it not for? Did your parents teach you nothing about respect, agent? I am the head of this branch. I rank more highly than you, I am smarter than you, I am better at my job than you are and you will treat me with respect accordingly. If, in order to get you to do that, I have to condition you like I would an animal, then so be it.” Advancing, she sticks a heel in his chest, hard, and prevents him from standing up. 

“You could at least have given me a chance…”

“I gave you considerably more than a single change agent.”

“What the fuck did I even do?”

“I don’t appreciate being called a ‘bitch’. I am a human being, not a dog. And apparently, despite your outside appearances and your frankly embarrassing behaviour, you are too. So let’s treat each other like that, shall we?” Thompson grunts, struggling to breathe under the pressure of her foot. 

“Don’t try to struggle, agent. These are not normal shoes.” The fact that she leaves the sentence hanging, without further explanation, is much more ominous than it would have been if she’d explained herself. Q is entirely capable of doing pretty much anything with technology, and it wouldn’t do well to put anything past her, especially not right now. Thompson stills, reluctantly, and growls venomously, glaring at her. 

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes ma’am’, shall I? I think I’d better, otherwise I might cause you some serious damage, and we can’t have that with you all prepared to go and botch up another mission.” The reaction is instant. He recoils, whip-fast. His eyes are wide, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. She tilts her head on one side, thoughtfully contemplating him. “You know, if you’d just respected my orders and done as I instructed, I’m sure that mission would have gone far more successfully. I am better informed than you, agent, and you would do well not to forget that.” With one last push, she finally removes her heel and steps away, allowing him to struggle to his feet.

“Oh, and one more thing; I’m afraid I do not like being touched without my permission. A rather reasonable request, don’t you think?” The agent grunts, pained. 

“All you had to do was tell me to get off…”

“I’m sure your recollection isn’t that bad, Thompson. You’ve only suffered mild trauma. I did tell you to get off. Rather clearly, in fact.”

“Jesus, Q.” He looks wounded. “It’s not like I even bloody did anything. If you can’t take a compliment…” 

She tasers him. 

His body convulses, then falls still.

“Sorry.” Q apologises to the nearest intern, whose eyes are wide with shock. “I couldn’t cope with his pathetic whinging any more.” She checks her watch, quickly, and swears. “Shit. That wasted far too much of my time. Bloody interfering agents…”

“Hello.” Bond says at her elbow, and she jumps. The man moves like a cat, she swears.

“Oh, good, it's you. Take Thompson down to medical for me. I don’t have time.” Bond raises an eyebrow. 

“What am I, a carrier-pigeon?”

“No, but you’re close by and not currently busy.”

That, he unfortunately cannot deny. Sighing, he concedes, and Q watches as he easily slings Thompson’s prone body over his shoulders.

“What have you done with those shoes, by the way? I think Eve might want a pair.”

Q smirks. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out at some point.”


End file.
